


they were kids that i once knew

by taakos



Series: money, power, glory [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Broken Bones, Discrimination, Drug Dealing, Explicit Language, Fake AH Crew, Gun Violence, Homicide, Murder, Non-Consensual Touching, Trans Female Character, Transphobia, Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-17 11:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4665453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taakos/pseuds/taakos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the members of the Fake AH Crew were children once. (A long time ago.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. so young, yet so bloodied

Out of everyone in the Fake AH Crew, Michael is probably the scariest. (And most fucked up.) He goes from "mellow and just hanging out" to "your death will be merciless" in seconds.

Geoff likes to think it's because he was born into crime. Unlike the rest of them, Michael was born to be a criminal, he just got to choose what kind.

"If I hadn't gone into crime, I'd've probably been shamed by my family," Michael chuckles, licking the blood from his lip.

The Fake AH Crew sits around the coffee table. They just finished a small, complicated job gone wrong. Gavin has a hole in his thigh where a bullet used to be. Ray had to kill a kid today, so he’s not doing good. None of them are doing “good”.

To make things feel a little less tense, Michael started talking about his childhood. The kid's fucked up. He's been fighting all his life, never been discouraged from it. All the men (and most women) in Michael's family, in fact, had been taught to box. According to Michael, he took to it like a mayfly to a streetlamp.

"There's this picture of me from when I was ten," he takes a sip of his beer. "It's from after a boxin' match, and I'm fuckin' covered in another kid's blood. I remember I was grinnin' so hard my face felt like it was about to split."

"I'm guessing you won that match?" Jack asks, peering at Michael over her wine.

"Yeah. Jesus, you shoulda seen the mat, though. The kid I fought almost slipped on his own blood." Michael laughs, the split in his lip widening with his unhinged grin.

(Geoff shudders at the thought of ten year old Michael covered in blood and smiling.)

Michael torturing someone is incomparable to anything else. One of the few times Geoff's seen it, Michael started pulling teeth. He had a fucking jar full of teeth on a table. Even Ryan was a bit grossed out.

(Which is saying something since Ryan only does crime because he enjoys killing people.)

Michael, apparently, used to fight in an underground fighting ring. He was fifteen and kept doing it until he started working with the Mafia. He was very good at it. 

“Paid a lot better than any retail jobs,” he remarks, sipping on his beer.

He pulls out a picture of himself from his wallet. It was taken right after a match. He's sixteen and wears the most manic grin Geoff's ever seen. Michael's teeth have blood on them, so do his fists.

Michael's eyes are focused on the camera, his gaze startlingly clear. He's shirtless and blood runs from his navel. His basketball shorts are white, blood and grime soaked into the fibers. His usually fluffy russet curls fall limply to his forehead, presumably dampened by sweat.

For someone who probably just beat the shit out of another person, he looks very happy. His eyes look so serious, but his grin is unnervingly radiant. His smile shines like a neutron star, but his eyes have the surface gravity of one. (If you get too close to him, you might just burst into flames.)

That's the thing about Michael, Geoff thinks. He's so goddamn chill but when he's angry, he just explodes. Michael doesn’t enjoy killing like Ryan does, but he’ll kill without discrimination. Michael has been fighting all his life and Geoff thinks it'll take something huge to stop him.

(Something like death.)

  


Innocence, Ryan thinks, is a fleeting thing. You can only be innocent for so long in this world. Ryan cannot remember a time where he was innocent. (Which says a lot since Ryan has a fantastic memory.) He had to have been very young, though.

Ryan can remember the first person he killed. Ryan (or James, as he was called then) was 8. His grandfather was suffering through lung cancer.

Grandpa had just fallen asleep in the middle of their conversation. James' family was outside while James and Grandpa talked. James' grandfather was a mean old bastard, but James liked him nonetheless.

(Sometimes, his grandfather would tell him stories about the Vietnam War. How he watched men be blown to pieces because of a land-mine. How he was tortured for information for eight days until he was rescued. How he killed so many men he still saw their faces at night. James thought war was amazing, how it could change a person.)

His grandfather's face while sleeping was not one of peace, but of pain. Grandpa's lungs had collapsed once already. James' parents were talking about "pulling the plug" earlier. James had a better idea.

There was a machine keeping Grandpa alive. It helped him breathe since he couldn't get enough air by himself. Grandpa was also on a lot of morphine. The amount they gave him was just barely below how much would kill a person.

(James read too much as a child, read some things he perhaps shouldn't have. Like how much morphine could kill someone. Or how to fake certain emotions.)

James' eyes moved to the morphine machine. The current injection amount was 150 mg. James went on his tiptoes and pressed the plus button a few times. The injection amount went from 150 mg to 220 mg in seconds.

Grandpa's heartbeat grew quiet, then quieter, and then nothing. The heart-rate monitor deadlined. James quickly pressed the morphine injector's amount back to 150 mg. James forced himself to breathe very quickly and begin shaking.

"Grandpa? Grandpa!" James screamed.

James' parents busted through the door, followed by doctors and nurses. His parents took him aside and asked what happened.

"We were talking and then Grandpa fell asleep. Or, at least I thought he was sleeping! Then the beeping machine stopped beeping!" James' voice shook with panic.

James forced himself to shed tears. His mother and father hugged him tightly.  James kept shaking and crying, if only to keep up the illusion. (A normal eight year old would feel something after killing their grandfather, James told himself.)

Hours would pass and the doctors would say his grandfather died of a morphine overdose.

"We must've miscalculated on how much his body could handle over time. I'm so sorry." The doctor said as he shook his head sadly.

(While making the doctors feel guilty wasn’t James’ intention, it still happened. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault, Lissa,” he heard in the hall. But it was, it was James’ fault. If only they knew.)

The first time Ryan killed someone, it wasn't out of hate or necessity. It was out of kindness.

Perhaps Ryan lost his innocence the day he killed his grandfather.

(Perhaps he was never innocent at all. Perhaps.)


	2. i've seen better days (so unafraid in my youth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter title is from lydia's song highly suspect + the fic's name is from stars' song dead hearts. also, TW -- there's transphobic language, gun/other violence, homicide, gore, and drug dealing/talk of drugs. if you don't do well with that stuff, please don't read this <3

(“You didn’t feel guilty?” Geoff asks.

“He was going to die, anyway. I just didn’t want him to linger around like a ghost.” Ryan says in a low voice.

Ray, in the corner of his eye, frowns and pulls his knees to his chest. His purple hoodie has dirt and blood on it. Ray probably didn’t even notice.

Geoff nods solemnly. “Ghosts are better left behind and laid to rest.”)

Mobile, Alabama was the worst place Geoff has ever lived. He’s sure about this because he lived there for a while. He’s also moved around a bunch, so he’s pretty much an expert. 

Mobile is extremely different from the rest of Alabama. It’s the only sea port and constantly hot. There’s a lot of partying and weird shit. If Geoff were to describe Mobile in two words, they would be “weird shit”.

Mardi Gras, perhaps, is the weirdest of shit. For four weeks going from January to Febuary, absolute chaos in Mobile goes down. A ton of people always come into the city for Mardi Gras, meaning there’s a lot of stuff going on. Downtown during Mardi Gras is a clusterfuck, if Geoff’s ever seen one. Lots of drugs, alcohol, orgies (if you know the right people), bright colors, and drunk people.

It was Mardi Gras and Geoff was poor. He didn’t have any money. Not to say that there was a Mardi Gras discount going on at Geoff’s favorite comic book store, but there was. 

So, of course, he hit up his local drug dealing acquaintance, Greg.

(“Greg?” Michael asks incredulously. “You knew a drug dealer named Greg?”

“He sounds very white,” Ryan comments.

“He was! He was super white!” Geoff snorts, remembering Greg’s pale skin and, somehow, his very clean record with the cops even though he was a known seller. 

Ray raises an eyebrow. “You helped a drug dealer so you could buy comics that were on-sale?”

In response, the mustachioed man shrugs. Not his fault the discount was so high. Maybe it was his fault that he decided to need more than twenty comic books.)

Geoff helped Greg with his English homework. In exchange, Greg let Geoff deliver orders to his customers. Greg mostly sold to the rich kids in their school, so he often over-charged them. (Not that they knew that.) Geoff and Greg usually split the cash after everything was done.

Geoff called Greg, who was always happy to help Geoff. Being that it was Mardi Gras season and the weekend, most of the rich kids were out partying. Most of the good parties were being thrown Downtown, which was a massive clusterfuck. Geoff needed the money, though. (His TV was broken and he needed something to do, okay?)

As they drove through Midtown Mobile, Geoff was beginning to hate the idea more and more. 

“Son of a bitch!” Geoff yelped in a voice higher than he wanted to, as Greg drove over a bump.

“Sorry, man,” Greg said apologetically. “I don’t like Downtown either, but the only good business is there.”

Geoff waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s not your fault.”

After a few more bumps, Greg slowed the car down. They came to a stop and he opened his satchel. He pulled a small bag of white powder out, handing it to Geoff. 

“You know Carolyn? Tall blonde, kinda bitchy?” Greg asked, turning to Geoff.

Geoff nodded, putting the cocaine baggie into his pocket. 

“When you knock on the door, just ask for her. She should know you’re running for me. She owes you 400 bucks.” Greg replied. 

He briefly pointed at building to the left of them.

Geoff nodded again and climbed out of the car. He walked around the car and up to the house, sharply rapping his knuckles on the door. His hands absently found their way into his hoodie’s pockets. 

The door opened, revealing a tall angry looking man. 

He spoke loudly over the pulsing electronic music. “You need somethin’, dude?”

Geoff briefly wondered if the guy’s face was naturally angry before remembering why he was there. “Uh, yeah, I have something for Carolyn!”

The guy’s intimidating essence disappeared. “Oh, shit, I’ll grab her for you! You mind coming in while I get her?”

Geoff shook his head and the guy moved aside. As the door closed, Geoff reminisced about why he didn’t go to these parties. He could feel the bass of the music in his brain.

“Be right back!” The guy assured Geoff before disappearing up the stairs.

Geoff leaned against the wall behind him. He could smell so much weed. The place actually reeked of it. His mom might actually kill him when he got home. 

Geoff sighed. This is what he got for being poor.

Someone came pounding down the steps. “Oh, hey -- you’re Greg’s runner, right?”

Geoff looked up to where the voice came from. He recognized Carolyn and nodded.

She stopped in front of him. “How much do I owe you?”

“Four hundred.” Geoff answered. 

She shoved a hand into her jeans, pulling out a wad of hundreds. She counted four bills and handed them to him.

Geoff grabbed the coke out his pocket, tossing it to her. 

“Thanks, dude,” Carolyn said as she caught it.

A sharp bang rang out upstairs as Carolyn began to walk away. Geoff flinched as his eyes widened. He knew the sound of a gunshot when he heard one. The music cut out suddenly. Then, the screaming started. 

“Aw, shit!” Her gaze swung to him. “You better get out of here, dude!”

People started flooding down the stairs and out the door. Another shot went off, angry shouting accompanying it. Geoff narrowly avoided being trampled.

“Wait! What the fuck are you doing! You’re gonna get shot!” Geoff quickly called out to her.

“I gotta stop them!” Carolyn shouted before pushing through the crowd. 

“Son of a bitch,” Geoff mumbled under his breath. 

He elbowed his way through the people and followed her up the stairs. 

An eerie silence hung in the air as the final people left the house. Geoff saw Carolyn enter the room where the shots were coming from. 

He put his back against the wall and peeked inside. 

Three bodies were scattered around the room. Carolyn was crouched next to a shaking boy, her hands slowly trying to grab the gun. She lifted her head slightly and met Geoff’s gaze. The shooter spooked suddenly, causing the pistol to go off and get thrown near the door. 

Geoff’s eyes widened and he clenched his fists. He was shaking and couldn’t stop it.

Carolyn screamed as she fell to the ground. Her hands shook violently while clutching her stomach. Her screams became gurgles, blood flowing from her lips. The shooter gripped his hair, hyperventilating as Carolyn bled.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he breathed heavily as he stared at her.

Geoff panicked and dove for the gun while the shooter was distracted. He picked it up, cocking the hammer. His hands trembled as he aimed at the back of the kid’s head. Geoff inhaled deeply and a final bang went off. 

A splat hit the wall. Red dripped down it.

Geoff immediately turned around, exhaling roughly to keep himself from throwing up. Carolyn’s gurgles dropped off into silence and Geoff heard a thump. He flicked the gun’s safety on and tucked it into his waistband, barely noticing the burning barrel. The only things he was focused on were his heart thumping and distant sirens. 

Geoff hurriedly walked out of the room, went down the stairs, and through the door. He could feel his entire body shaking as he hurried to Greg’s car. He whipped open the door and sat. He crossed his arms in a poor attempt to calm down. 

(He shook nonetheless.)

Greg stared at him, before raising his eyebrows. 

Geoff just shook his head. “The cops are coming, we gotta go.”

Greg seemed to get the point. 

As the car hauled ass away from the street, Geoff stared at his lower half. He hadn’t noticed earlier, but somehow, blood got on him. He looked away and sighed deeply, knowing his greed would always get the better of him. He hardly thought about his mother scolding him the entire ride home.

(Mobile, Alabama is a place full of ghosts. People wander there, hoping to find salvation at the bottom of a bottle, a pipe, a bag, or magazine of ammo. They often find themselves cold, alone, and dead. Geoff found ghosts in Mobile, but he refused to let them haunt him. They were ghosts in every city, it made no difference if he left behind some. 

There are things that must be done in order to live as comfortably as possible, or at least that’s what Geoff’s learned. 

He can't help but wonder what the limit to that is.)

 

Jack Shannon Pattillo is a pacifist. She doesn't like or particularly enjoy violence, but sometimes it must happen. 

(Sometimes it will make or break someone.)

Jack was thirteen. It was the middle of the school year. She was cornered for the second time that week. Punches and kicks flew at her, leaving bruises and cuts. The boys who hit her left, only to leave Jack sitting on the floor.

Jack stared vacantly at the lockers across from her position on the floor. She was slumped awkwardly, her legs out in front of her. One hand moved to her temple and Jack found blood. 

Jack passed out.

She woke up maybe five minutes later, still awkwardly slumped on the floor. Class wasn't over yet, but the teacher might be looking for her. And there was blood on the floor. Great.

Jack stood, felt a sharp, thudding pain in her head, and then limped to her math classroom. The teacher sat at the desk and looked up quickly as Jack walked in. His usually intense expression softened. (Jack didn’t know he was capable of softness.)

"Jack, kiddo, what happened to you?" Mr. Gover asked.

"Some kids beat me up and then I passed out, I think," Jack slurred, holding a hand to her temple.

"Jesus, you look like you're about to do it again. Come on, I'll take you to the Nurse." Mr. Gover said worriedly. He stood and walked quickly to Jack, her weight mostly leaning on him.

He led Jack out of the classroom and made sure she didn't fall. They walked slowly and quietly as Jack slumped along. As they walked, Jack could feel her eyes wanting to shut. Her eyes began to flutter.

Mr. Gover snapped loudly a few times, startling Jack. Her shoulders went up, her eyes widening comically at the sudden noise.

"Jack, you can't fall asleep, you probably have a concussion." Mr. Gover looked at her seriously. "C'mon, let's keep going."

Jack and Mr. Gover reached the Nurse's Office a minute later, Jack's eyes fluttering still. Once she saw them, the Nurse gasped and gestured wildly. Mr. Gover helped Jack into the examination room and helped her get on the bed.

The next few hours were a blur. Jack's concussion was serious enough to fuck with her memory. She woke up to a eerily quiet hospital. The smell of sterile sheets and pillowcases filled her senses.

Her time, in the hospital, passed very quickly. (Much quicker than time usually would without a concussion.) 

Jack went home and rested after two days in the hospital. Everything got better.

And then, it didn't. Jack went back to school weeks later and was cornered again. Except this time, it was only one person.

"Oh, hey, faggot. How's it goin'?" A boy approached Jack, pushing her backward slightly.

"Can you just fuck off? I just wanna get back to class, asshole." Jack growled. She tried to walk past him.

"Nah, dude, you're fine here." He said condescendingly, pushing her back again. 

As Jack stumbled backward, the boy said, "You know, trannies are kinda hot."

He moved closer to Jack, pushing her against the wall. Jack's back thudded against it, her spine ached. Jack began to breathe heavier, panic rushed into her veins.

"How about it, Jackie?" The boy purred, touching Jack's orange curls. A shiver went down her spine.

(Something had broke inside of her all of a sudden. Jack saw red.)

"Fuck you, dillhole!" Jack snarled. She shoved her knee into his crotch, his body crumbled instantly. He was bent at the waist his hands covering his balls (which presumably hurt a lot).

And then, Jack tackled him. She dove at him and they crashed to the ground. Jack started throwing haymaker after haymaker. She could feel his nose break under her fists. (And she felt no guilt.)

"FuckyoufuckyoufuckFUCKYOUFUCKYOU!” Jack screamed, her panic turning into anger. 

She was sick and fucking tired of being beaten because she was a girl. She felt herself be hit once or twice, but ignored the sting.

White noise filled Jack's ears as she shattered the boy's face. Nose, cheekbone, chin, jaw, all of them now broken. Jack could feel the bones fracture under her fingers. (Bloody fingers, now.)

The boy sobbed as she punched him. Jack felt herself being pulled away by the waist. Before giving into whoever was dragging her away, Jack spit on the boy's ruined face. As the spit hit his eye, blood stained her salvia.

Jack's lip had split somewhere in between tackling and beating the shit out of the dude. Jack felt herself grin raggedly as she was dragged away.

("Somehow, you beating the shit out of some kid because he was an asshole, isn't surprising." Geoff remarks, sipping on his whiskey.

Jack nods as Michael asks, "How old were you?"

Jack wets her lips. "It was eighth grade -- so I was thirteen, I think."

Michael raises his glass in reverence of her. Ray, Ryan, Gavin, and Geoff do the same. Jack smiles at them. It's like the Sun bursting through the clouds.)

(But even stars burn out. Someday, the Sun will die, taking a good portion of the Solar System with it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well. it's been some time since i updated. sorry the tenses are so screwy.
> 
> i'm doing well, if you're concerned about that. i hope y'all are alright. gav's fic still has to be finished, but ray's is done, and his is the finale. see you next time? 
> 
> (also -- sorry x20. i don't mean to be so slow, i'm just really trash.)


End file.
